Theirs is an understanding that has rarely ever needed words. In fact, Squall has always felt on his back foot when trying to use them around Seifer's aggrandized eloquence. Even now, a commander of considerable rank meant to inspire others, he feels the lack. Every ounce of leadership in him something he's cobbled together from Seifer's speeches and all the ideals he used to espouse.
The kiss is permission to abandon words. They are forgotten wholesale against the surety of Seifer's mouth, still mapping the feel of it against his own and the knowledge of all the time they lost to their own trepidation. Their unwillingness to risk the rivalry that made them both better.
Would this make them better too? Squall knows it will come with hardships but will any of them compare to the feeling of coming home that exists solely on Seifer's lips? He sighs contentedly into the fit of their mouths and meets Seifer's own with a bit of weight that encourages him closer.
His hands curve over the scarred flesh of his sides, scale the length of his ribs, before seeking out any unmarred flesh that might disrupt the brutality written across his back where Squall flattens his hand to guide Seifer against the protection of his own body.
He kisses him the way they would sometimes test new footing on training grounds. Slow, cautious motions to better map the terrain. Seifer's body might bear the horrors of the war and Ultimecia's cruelty, but Squall is willing to put in the work to rewrite what it means for someone to touch Seifer and his touch is its own silent promise matched by the gradual intensity of their kiss: no one else was ever going to hurt him again.
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2025-01-30 07:06 am (UTC)The kiss is permission to abandon words. They are forgotten wholesale against the surety of Seifer's mouth, still mapping the feel of it against his own and the knowledge of all the time they lost to their own trepidation. Their unwillingness to risk the rivalry that made them both better.
Would this make them better too? Squall knows it will come with hardships but will any of them compare to the feeling of coming home that exists solely on Seifer's lips? He sighs contentedly into the fit of their mouths and meets Seifer's own with a bit of weight that encourages him closer.
His hands curve over the scarred flesh of his sides, scale the length of his ribs, before seeking out any unmarred flesh that might disrupt the brutality written across his back where Squall flattens his hand to guide Seifer against the protection of his own body.
He kisses him the way they would sometimes test new footing on training grounds. Slow, cautious motions to better map the terrain. Seifer's body might bear the horrors of the war and Ultimecia's cruelty, but Squall is willing to put in the work to rewrite what it means for someone to touch Seifer and his touch is its own silent promise matched by the gradual intensity of their kiss: no one else was ever going to hurt him again.